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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25303765">The Hundred Years War</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill'>gardnerhill</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>221B Ficlet, Angst, Community: watsons_woes, Gen, Great Hiatus, Grief/Mourning, Homesickness, Reichenbach Falls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:19:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>879</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25303765</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Only the calendar thinks it was three years.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Watson's Woes JWP Collection: 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Holmes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the 2020 July Watson's Woes Promptfest prompt #15, 24 is 48: Your prompt today is: time stretches. In honor of this prompt, you have twice as long (48 hours) before the next prompt appears. Bonus point: Write two entries for this prompt in the 48 hours.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Let me tell you about the war I fought for a hundred years.<br/>
It began with a man invading my home and threatening me.<br/>
I set my traps and fled to safety. Or so I thought.<br/>
When I realised he had escaped, I knew I was lost.<br/>
I sent my dearest friend away to save him.<br/>
I met my foe at the Reichenbach.<br/>
There we fought and he died.<br/>
And here my war began.<br/>
I fled in the night, as far from London as I could go.<br/>
My work was simple: survive, track them down, arrest or kill them all.<br/>
I would not go home until all was done.<br/>
A dozen countries, a hundred cities, a thousand faces.<br/>
Every day, every hour, every minute, aware that I could die.<br/>
They looked for me as I hunted them down.<br/>
Hunting, sleeping, this was my life.<br/>
I did not let myself remember certain things:<br/>
A warm hearth on a cold foggy day, a companion beyond measure, peace.<br/>
The world went on around me, spinning; I took no heed,<br/>
Marking decades for all I cared.<br/>
This was the life I had always lived, this perpetual hunt,<br/>
this hundred-years' war.<br/>
I am grey and gaunt and ill from the fighting.<br/>
…The last victim of my last target.<br/>
I turn to home, this clock finally broken.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Watson</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>Shall I tell you about the century I spent in Hell?<br/>It began with a Swiss lad asking for help. <br/>I returned to our charming chalet on an errand of mercy. Or so I thought. <br/>When I realised the note was a ruse, I knew all was lost.<br/>I'd left my dearest friend alone, to die. <br/>I ran back to the Reichenbach.<br/>They had fought, and both died. <br/>And here my descent into Hell began. <br/>I fled that lovely site, and back into London I went. <br/>My work was simple: survive, keep on walking, get through the day.<br/>I could not stay; 221b no longer a home. It was done. <br/>Dozens of months, hundreds of days, thousands of hours –<br/>Every day, every hour, every minute, wanting to die.<br/>Others looked to me. I could not let them down. <br/>Work. Sleep. This was my life. <br/>I did not let myself remember certain things: <br/>A warm hearth on a cold foggy day, a companion beyond measure, peace. <br/>The world went on around me as I took no notice of it, <br/>Every year feeling like decades. <br/>This was all I had ever done in my life, this ghost walk <br/>for the past century. <br/>I am grey and haunted and ill from the march. <br/>…This murder awakens interest.<br/>I go there; ordinary time again begins.  </i>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Call and Response</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><i><b>How can three years feel like a hundred?</b><br/>
</i>Let me tell you about the war I fought for a hundred years.<br/>
<i>Shall I tell you about the century I spent in Hell?<br/>
</i>It began with a man invading my home and threatening me.<br/>
<i>It began with a Swiss lad asking for help.<br/>
</i>I set my traps and fled to safety. Or so I thought.<br/>
<i>I returned to our charming chalet on an errand of mercy. Or so I thought.<br/>
</i>When I realised he had escaped, I knew I was lost.<br/>
<i>When I realised the note was a ruse, I knew all was lost.<br/>
</i>I sent my dearest friend away to save him.<br/>
<i>I'd left my dearest friend alone, to die.<br/>
</i>I met my foe at the Reichenbach.<br/>
<i>I ran back to the Reichenbach.<br/>
</i>There we fought and he died.<br/>
<i>They had fought, and both died.<br/>
</i>And here my war began.<br/>
<i>And here my descent into Hell began.<br/>
</i>I fled in the night, as far from London as I could go.<br/>
<i>I fled that lovely site, and back into London I went.<br/>
</i>My work was simple: survive, track them down, arrest or kill them all.<br/>
<i>My work was simple: survive, keep on walking, get through the day.<br/>
</i>I would not go home until all was done.<br/>
<i>I could not stay; 221b no longer a home. It was done.<br/>
</i>A dozen countries, a hundred cities, a thousand faces.<br/>
<i>Dozens of months, hundreds of days, thousands of hours –<br/>
</i>Every day, every hour, every minute, aware that I could die.<br/>
<i>Every day, every hour, every minute, wanting to die.<br/>
</i>They looked for me as I hunted them down.<br/>
<i>Others looked to me. I could not let them down.<br/>
</i>Hunting, sleeping, this was my life.<br/>
<i>Work. Sleep. This was my life.<br/>
<b>I did not let myself remember certain things:<br/>
A warm hearth on a cold foggy day, a companion beyond measure, peace.</b></i><br/>
The world went on around me, spinning; I took no heed,<br/>
<i>The world went on around me as I took no notice of it,<br/>
</i>Marking decades for all I cared.<br/>
<i>Every year feeling like decades.<br/>
</i>This was the life I had always lived, this perpetual hunt,<br/>
<i>This was all I had ever done in my life, this ghost walk<br/>
</i>this hundred-years' war.<br/>
<i>for the past century.<br/>
</i>I am grey and gaunt and ill from the fighting.<br/>
<i>I am grey and haunted and ill from the march.<br/>
</i>…The last victim of my last target.<br/>
<i>…This murder awakens interest.<br/>
</i>I turn to home, this clock finally broken.<br/>
<i>I go there; ordinary time again begins.<br/>
<b>I see you. My heart marks the hour.</b></i></p>
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